


Violence of Daylight

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Peter's not a nice guy, Raygun gothic, atompunk, but Lydia's not a nice lady either, mentions of drug use/abuse, noir-ish, so it all works out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:03:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8462854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: She sat in the client chair, crossing her legs and giving me a brief flash of garter, though even I couldn't tell if it had been intentional or not. "Martin. Lydia Martin. And I want you to find my fiancé."





	1. Ain't no Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UnitedKingdomOrgy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnitedKingdomOrgy/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this began a dog's age ago as a [snippet to make Britta feel better after a shitty day](http://pydiapack.tumblr.com/post/78076025660/just-for-you-britta), it ah, ballooned; and now finally two years and some odd months later I finally finished it...yay? (so to answer your tag, why Yes Britta, there's more...it just took me a while to get to...)
> 
> fic title comes from "No Light" Florence + the Machine, chapter comes from "Ain't No Sunshine" originally by Bill Withers.

The young woman who entered my office might have been short, but her legs seemed to go on for miles. I peered at her over the rim of my glass as I finished off my whiskey. She was pretty, in the way spring was pretty, full of life and color. She smelt pretty too: like the French countryside on good days.

From the way she held herself as she walked up to my desk I could tell she was rich and used to getting what she wanted; I'd hate to be the man to disappoint her, especially if it involved those legs.

I set my glass down. "What can I do for you Miss..."

She sat in the client chair, crossing her legs and giving me a brief flash of garter, though even _I_ couldn't tell if it had been intentional or not. "Martin. Lydia Martin. And I want you to find my fiancé."

Well, fuck. I knew I was already going to take the case, if only to see the sublime Miss Martin again, but I was half tempted to accept the case just so I could 'stumble' across the fiancé's dead body and break the horribly tragic news to her. “So who's the lucky man?”

She pulled a photo from her purse and tossed it on the desk. “Aiden Monroe.”

I didn't need to pick up the photo to know what he looked like, the Monroe pack had been nipping at the edges of our territory for the better part of a year now, but I did it anyways.

The fact that it was a color photo surprised me, Miss Martin was richer than I'd thought, but the youthful, arrogant face I'd expected stared back at me. “And what makes you think Miss Martin, that his disappearance is foul play?” I'd know plenty of men who got cold feet and 'disappeared' before the day.

Her flat stare would have had lesser men cowering. “We're getting married in two weeks.” If it had been a different woman I would have assumed it was the usual protestations, but Miss Martin sounded, and smelled, so certain, that Aiden Monroe was either monumentally stupid or something really had happened to him.

I tossed the photo back. “I would think his family would be trying to find him if what you say is true.”

“I don't trust them,” well I was glad we agreed on that; the Monroes were loose canons that caused more harm than good in the supernatural world.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Saturday, we had a...heated discussion about where we were going to live after the wedding.”

Resisting the urge to jump for joy, seemed that paradise wasn't so perfect after all, I stood and headed over to my drinks cabinet. “Would you like a drink?”

“Ruby port if you have any.”

She was in luck, thanks to the fact that my daughter had an easily bribed sweet tooth. “And how did the 'discussion' end?”

“With me storming out, he seemed to think his apartment would be enough for the two of us and wanted me to sell my house.” She accepted the glass I handed her and took a sip. “This morning Ethan called me asking if I'd heard from Aiden.”

Three days then, enough time that a pup his age could get into a whole host of trouble. I got the rest of the pertinent details from her, before seeing her out with a smile.

After watching her leave I returned to my office and lit a cigarette, just letting it burn down in the ashtray and stink the whole room up. Moments later my dear niece and Alpha came in and wrinkled her nose at the smell. “Who was that Peter?”

I arched an eyebrow as I finished off the rest of Miss Martin's port. “A new client, missing fiancé.”

Laura sighed. “I guess that means you won't be coming downstairs to help.” The grocery store the family owned, originally nothing more than a front for the speako my parents used to run, had flourished under Laura's respectable touch and become a staple in our little neighborhood.

I pulled on my coat as I stood. “Of course not dear niece. Someone has to be the disreputable one in this family.”

She gave another sigh, but let me pass. I jogged through the kitchen on my way out and waved to Cora, elbows deep in sausage filling, as I left. Time to do a little hunting.

Five hours, all the asylums in Beacon Hills, and two opium dens later I finally found Stiles.

A few years ago he'd had an...unfortunate run in with a nogitsune, and ever since he'd been in and out of dens when he had the cash, and asylums when he didn't. Despite his addiction he was still the best snitch in town, and was worth the trouble.

Tossing some cash at the protesting owner I scooped Stiles up, wrinkling my nose at his unwashed reek, and walked out. He was blissed out enough that all I got were random mutters as I manhandled him into my car.

The only downside to finding him in a den instead of an asylum was now I had to wait for him to crash, with a sigh I turned my car towards the only other place that could hold him.

Derek's garage was practically empty as I walked in, Stiles slung over my shoulder. “Found your boyfriend Derek.”

He wheeled out from the underside of the mag-car he was working on and glowered at me. “Stiles isn't my boyfriend _uncle_.”

I rolled my eyes as I headed to the back and the stairs to the loft. “The more you say that the less I believe it.”

Derek only snarled as I made my way up. Pulling back the covers on the bed Derek had for late nights I blinked in surprise to see Malia curled up there. I gave her shoulder a gentle shove as I laid Stiles down. “Hey sweetheart.”

She blinked sleepily up at me. “Dad, what are you doing here?” She noticed Stiles. “Oh.”

“I think the better question is what are you doing here? I'd thought you ran off again.” She had a _delightful_ habit of going off to the woods for days at a time and not telling anyone beforehand.

At least she had the decency to look a little embarrassed as she nestled closer to Stiles. “Derek's still waiting on a part for Cora's bike.”

I pulled the covers over both of them. “That doesn't mean you have to hide out at the garage until it's finished. Considering you're fixing your prank she's already forgiven you.”

Malia huffed as she closed her eyes. “Alright dad, I'll stop pestering Derek tomorrow.”

A chuckle escaped me as I left them. I gave a brief rap on the side of the car Derek was working on to get his attention. “Don't let Stiles leave, I've got questions for him. And bring Malia around for breakfast tomorrow.”

Derek's only response was a grunt, which for him was basically a whole speech. Leaving him to his work I headed back home, lurking at Monroe's hotel was better left to tomorrow.

-

After breakfast the next morning—which Malia did make an appearance at—I headed off to the Regent to see what I could get there.

Monroe's hotel was sickeningly opulent: glass so clean I'd already seen three people walk into it and chrome so shiny you would need sunglasses to look straight at it. It had a whole block of charging stations for the newfangled electric cars, and a small army of bots to do all the heavy lifting for the high and mighty flowing in and out.

Though at least they had the decency to put a human at the desk. I gave him the most charming smile I could manage as I approached. “Hello, I'm here to see Aiden Monroe.”

The clerk frowned. “Mr. Monroe isn't in today,” even without his suddenly sour scent, I would have known he was giving me a line from the darting eyes.

I let my smile grow even bigger. “Alright then, I'll leave a message if that's alright.”

The clerk relaxed and pulled out a slip of paper, then gave me an expectant look.

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes I gave him a line of my own. “Let him know the Hales have been feeling a little chatty with the Argents, and that he should act before things get too heavy.” I'd done worse things than possibly start a war between the local hunters and a rival pack.

I nearly leaned over and kissed the poor sap when he wrote down Monroe's room number at the bottom of the message; the universe was smiling on me and I wasn't going to question my string of good luck anytime soon.

I regretted my earlier thoughts two hours later when I found myself being jumped by a couple of mooks.

I might have known a lot of dirty tricks, but brute strength had never been my forte, preferring to be more...subtle in my ways. This didn't mean I didn't know how to fight, it just meant I was getting my ass handed to me by a group of humans, fucking pitiful.

In the end I managed to get in a few good shots, shattering a man's leg chief among them, but on the whole I ended up the worse for our little meeting. After the mooks left I forced myself to stand, wincing as I felt bones try to realign and mend.

I became so focused on walking and just finding a safe place to lay low for a few hours that I didn't notice Miss Martin's delectable scent until she was right in front of me.

The beautiful young lady in question gave me a once over and arched an eyebrow. “You look like you got mugged by a demon.”

My snigger got cut off by my groan of pain. “Thank you for that wonderful observation, I hadn't noticed.”

She gave a little sigh and uncrossed her arms. “I'll probably regret this, but come on my car's just around the corner.”

All too eagerly I hobbled after her, my day once more looking up.

Her car was very nice, the outside wasn't much to write home about but I'd bet my best bottle of whiskey that the inside and under the hood were to die for. I gave a pleased little sigh at being right as I slipped onto the butter-soft leather seat. Miss Martin finished tugging on her driving gloves as she slid into the driver’s seat, “you should be glad you've already stopped bleeding, otherwise I'd've made you curl up in the trunk.”

“Your concern for my well being...is touching.” I wheezed out before closing my eyes and focusing on healing right. Miss Martin had the decency to at least leave me alone after that.

The car pulled to a stop and I groggily opened my eyes, feeling a little like I'd been on a month's bender. The house, which I assumed was hers, was well kept and pretty, in a Victorian sort of way. Miss Martin opened the passenger door for me and stood there as I levered myself out. “If I have to help you walk, so help you you will regret it.”

I managed a smile at her biting tone. “I feel certain I can manage.” It was an undignified shuffle, but I did make it to the front door. She unlocked the door and I followed her into a house that smelt completely and only of her, if I suddenly dropped dead at least I'd do it happy.

She pointed at a room that smelt faintly of paint and had its furniture still covered in drop clothes. “I'll be right back.” She continued deeper into the house, my eyes following her until she entered another room. I shuffled into what was probably a drawing room and lowered myself onto what was probably the couch, with a small sigh of relief.

Miss Martin did indeed return soon, a first aid kit in her hands; not exactly useful but appreciated. “Take off your jacket and shirt.”

I bit back a grin. “But Miss Martin, I thought you were engaged.”

Her flat look told me she didn't think I was funny as she opened up her kit. I did as she asked though, wincing all the while, hoping she might have a thing for well-toned, but thin-ish men.

She pulled out a bottle of iodine and some cotton pads and without any further comment started cleaning out my wounds. At least that would be one less thing for my body to worry about. When she finished she left again, this time my ears followed the sounds of her moving and soon I heard the promising noise of liquids being poured and moments later the familiar _rattle_ of a cocktails shaker. _What hospitality_ , I let myself relax against the back of the couch and let my healing continue its work.

Miss Martin handed me my drink as she passed me. “Gin sour,” she answered before I could even ask. She pulled a drop cloth from a nearby chair and sat. “So what have you learned so far?”

If I hadn't known better I would have thought she'd gone through all the trouble of getting me beat up and 'rescuing' me just so she could ask that question. Which, while amusing, was not all that practical, something I was certain Miss Martin was.

“Nothing,” deciding not to mention the fact that Monroe apparently was still holed up in his apartment; better to find out more before dropping that particular bombshell. “But I'm meeting with a source tonight.” Stiles should be aware enough by then to actually understand questions.

Almost imperceptibly her grip on the arms of her chair tightened.

“What about you? Had any more contact with his family?”

She shook her head, “not that that's any different from the norm. Outside of Aiden and Ethan the rest of the Monroe's don't exactly like me.”

I sipped my drink thoughtfully, I might not have been much of much of a gin fan but this wasn't half bad, before deciding to push a little more. “Why don't they like you?”

Arching an eyebrow she leaned back a little, sadly I didn't get a repeat of yesterday's peep show. “I tend to know things Deucalion would rather stay hidden.”

My interest was even more piqued. Anything we could use to make the Monroes back off or, better yet, leave town altogether would be welcome. “Things like?”

Miss Martin gave a mysterious, sly smile and had I been mobile enough I would have leapt over and kissed that smile right off her face. “Let's just say I'm good at finding the bodies.”

The wolf inside me began pacing and snarling, wanting me to do _something_ , anything, as long as it meant the incomparable Miss Martin ended up in our arms, and eventually our bed. Not wanting to give anything away I made myself stand, shooting down the rest of my drink. “Thank you for your hospitality Miss Martin.”

She stood as well. “You're welcome. Do you want a ride back into town?”

While I would have loved to spend more time with her I shook my head as I slipped my shirt and jacket back on. “No, I'm well enough that a run won't kill me.” And I also needed to plot Monroe's downfall, if he hadn't already done it himself.

“If you say so. Feel free to call me if you find out anything.”

I've found out I want to see what you'll do if I tie you up and start ravaging you, if nothing else I was sure she'd be a _very_ pretty bleeder.

Miss Martin walked me to the door and a few steps later I was in the preserve. Letting my wolf loose a little I ran.

In record time I made it to Derek's garage, unsurprised to find both him and Stiles working on one of the cars, well Derek was working, Stiles was babbling on about a war, or possibly Communism.

I cleared my throat and he turned my way, his babble dying down. “Oh hey Peter.”

I walked up to the car and leaned against it. “Hello Stiles, I've got some questions.”

His hands fluttered for a few moments. “Yeah, that's what Derek said. I...uh...want payment up front.”

Giving him my best magnanimous smile I pulled out my billfold and counted out a hundred dollars. Instead of handing him the money like I usually did I thumped my knee against the car. “Derek.”

He rolled out from under the car and arched an eyebrow.

I dropped the money onto his chest. “Hold onto that for Stiles would you?”

“What?!” Stiles did a wonderful parrot impression.

I gave him a flat look. “Consider Derek your bank. I give him your money and you can go to him to get it, as long as you tell him what you're buying.”

Derek now looked more surprised than Stiles. “What brought on this?”

I patted Stiles' cheek. “Just feeling difficult. Now, tell me what you know about Aiden Monroe.”

Stiles huffed, closed his eyes, and tilted his head. “I know he's a bastard sonnova bitch. The girl he's sweet on, Lydia Martin, she had a boyfriend when they first met. But Aiden lured him out to the lake resort and killed him. Six months later Aiden and Lydia are throwing their engagement party in that exact same resort. She even knew it too, though she doesn't know Aiden's the one who did the deed.”

“So he went through a lot of trouble to get her, why?”

Stiles opened his eyes and arched an eyebrow. “What, the great Peter Hale doesn't know something?”

I lightly smacked him upside the head. “Cheeky. Explain.”

He rolled his eyes. “She's the rarest of the rare Petey, I hope even you can comprehend that.”

Apparently Stiles was taking the fun out of my new game by being cryptic, typical, but I knew I wouldn't get any more out of him. Reaching out I ruffled his hair. “Have fun trying to wheedle money out of Derek.”

I strolled out of the garage and began the walk home.

For half the night I tossed and turned in bed, my mind trying to parse what Stiles had told me. Eventually I gave up trying to sleep and got up. I padded down the hall past Malia's room, she managed to get home today and her steady breathing was soothing. Entering the library-study I didn't bother turning on the light, the illumination from the lamp outside enough for me to find my way around. Grabbing a few books off the shelves I started researching.

The next time I bothered checking the time it was almost seven AM. Sighing I ran my hands through my hair and leaned back. It seemed our extensive records wouldn't be as helpful as I thought they would.

“Something eating you?”

I looked up to see Malia, still a little sleepy and leaning against the study door. I gave her a ghost of a smile. “You could say that.” Standing up I went over and gave her a kiss on the temple. “But speaking of eating why don't I make some breakfast.” It would do me some good to get my mind off Lydia, loathed as I was to admit it.

“Crepes?”

I huffed. “On such short notice? No. I'll do waffles though, as long as you cut fruit and make whipped cream.”

“Deal.”

In the kitchen we settled on a jazz station and got to work.

Halfway through mixing the batter it came to me. “Oh.”

Banshee, that wonderful little minx was a Banshee. But how had she managed to hide it all these years? My parents, and later Talia and I, had kept an eye on every supernatural coming into Beacon Hills and the Martins had barely registered; looking like they were only humans in the know.

Faerie women were rare, so rare that their bloodlines were hoarded like gold. No wonder Deucalion was wary of pissing her off, if she married Aiden her line would be tied to the Monroe's for a least a century, more if they played their cards right. Dear gods.

“Dad?”

I looked up to see Malia staring at me. I gave her a little half smile. “I'm alright, could you get the griddle out for me?”

I spent the rest of breakfast plotting out the rest of my day. I wouldn’t confront Miss Martin just yet, despite the wolf in me wanting to, that could wait for later when this fiancé mess was over. Though that would be soon enough considering I planned on finally snooping out Monroe’s apartment, find out what was really going on.

After dropping Malia off at school, I relished the sudden lack of complaints and drove back to the Regent, parking a few blocks over.

Leisurely I strolled down the back alley, taking advantage of the absence of people to inspect the wall; since there was no one to impress here everything was plain brick, which made my job worlds easier. Scaling three floors of brick was hardly any work at all, I’d climbed worse in Europe. Shimmying over until I reached an empty sounding room turned out to be a little awkward on the other hand. Making quick work of the window lock I pulled it open and hauled myself in.

In a few steps I was at the door and opening it too, glancing up and down the hall to see no one. I left the door open when I left the room, just in case I needed a quick escape route. Like I belonged there I walked down to room 317 and listened at the door. After a minute of hearing nothing I pulled out my lockpicks and got to work.

Once inside the apartment I took a look around. Besides a very impressive glass wall that overlooked the nearby park the most noticeable things about the common room was the mess and the stench. The mess seemed to have been there for a few days, and considering the mess was only clothes and bottles I felt safe in assuming that it hadn’t been made by ransacking, and the smell...well it wasn’t one I would talk about in mixed company.

I had found Monroe distasteful before, now I wouldn’t even feed his corpse to a cat. Feeling both reluctant and eager I made my way down the narrow trail of clean floor towards the hall and, hopefully, the bedroom.

The bedroom might have had less clutter, but the smells of sex, blood, and pain were stronger here. So much so that I decided it best not to venture in further, there were some things that even _I_ couldn't stand. I could see enough from the door, however, to tell that whatever Monroe had done this weekend he’d had a rollicking good time doing it. So much for monogamy.

I stood there for a good fifteen minutes debating on whether or not to call Miss Martin and tell her about it now, or later. In the end I wandered back to the common room and picked up the receiver on his phone, dialing her number; best to get it done and over with as soon as possible, fewer ways things could go wrong then.

She picked up after a few rings. “Hello?”

Even though she couldn’t see it I smiled, “Hello Miss Martin, It’s me Peter Hale. I was just calling to tell you that I'm in Monroe’s apartment right now, and I think it best you come join me.”

“Mr. Hale...” I hung up before she could get any further than that. Moments later the phone rang, but I ignored it; if it were Miss Martin she’d only fire off a tirade of some sort and if it was someone else I wouldn’t have an easy time of explaining who I was and what I was doing answering Monroe’s phone. Soon enough it clicked over to the lobby desk for some poor shmuck to deal with.

Figuring it might take her a while to get over I went into the kitchen, hoisting myself onto the counter and making myself as comfortable as I could; no way was I going to try and uncover a chair to sit on in that morass.

I let myself fall into a slight doze, all the better to be ready for whatever might happen later, snapping out of it the moment I heard the sounds of a key scraping into the lock. From where I was perched I wasn’t easily visible from the entryway, so I didn’t bother moving.

A few seconds later the door opened and Lydia’s refreshing spring-flower scent preceded her. I decided not to bother announcing myself as she walked in, she’d notice me when she was ready. Instead I watched her and her reactions, curious to see what she’d do when she’d figured it out; no ‘ifs’ for her, she had too sharp a mind for that.

She seemed unsteady as she stepped into the mire of the common room, but she got a hold of herself a few feet later. Barely a moment after that she froze, and I found myself leaning towards her, curious as to what was happening.

My seat didn’t offer me that good a view of her face so I slid off and walked to the other end of the kitchen. From here I could see the glassiness of her eyes and the way she was mouthing things without speaking.

Over the years I had heard whispers of what Banshees could do, though those had only been accounts so nth-handed as to be practically useless. I knew all the basic legends though: death-callers, usually following a single family, almost always found washing clothes, things like that.

Was she seeing a death right now? Or could Banshees see beyond that? I nearly spoke to ask her, but held my tongue having no idea what would happen if I spoke at that moment.

Bot-like she turned and made her own way to the hall. My curiosity drug me behind her. Once in the bedroom she stopped moving completely, for a moment it even looked like she’d stopped breathing. I almost went over to her to try and snap her out of whatever _this_ was. I needn't have worried though, because a heartbeat later so she completely snapped out of whatever strange trance she’d put herself in. She did a perfect heel-turn and took the few steps between us. “Thank you Mr. Hale, I’ve seen everything I need to.” She brushed past me as she went into the hall. “And I no longer require your services.”

I followed her back out into the main living space. “As a PI maybe, but there are other services I can provide.”

She arched an amused eyebrow. “What? Amusement? Hit man?” A smirk danced across her mouth, and I barely resisted the urge to kiss that upturned corner of lip. “Very polite of your to offer Mr. Hale, but I have my own ways of dealing with these sorts of problems.”

I found myself curious about what she meant, but refrained from asking; it wouldn’t do me any good to scare her off. “Then I expect you at my office tomorrow to complete our transaction.”

Miss Martin gave a sharp nod, “I’ll be there at two fifteen.”

A smile bloomed on my face. “I look forward to it.” Turning I preceded her out of the apartment; in the lobby I gave a jaunty wave to the concierge as I left.

Instead of heading home I drove down to San Francisco; while Stiles was the best snitch I knew he was also a bit too biased in this case. I needed someone less...involved to give me the answers I wanted.

The docks were dark by the time I reached them, but I hardly felt worried as I made my way down an ill-lit alley.

O’Breen’s was a hole in the wall in the best sense of the phrase. Dim and worn it had survived nearly a century of abuse, and if rumor was to be believed it was run by a woman even older than that.

Inside was just as dim and worn as the outside, and not a place for the faint of heart. Besides a few diehards, who at this point were probably fused to their stools, and the bartender the place was empty. All the better for me. The black eyes of the bartender watched me impassively as I walked up and took a seat. She was pretty in an unusual sort of way, though if you asked me later I wouldn’t be able to tell you what about her was unusual; only instinct told me that there was something _different_ about her.

I ordered a bottle of their best whiskey and gestured for two glasses, which got me only a raised eyebrow. She returned a minutes or so later bottle and glasses in hand. I took the bottle from her and filled both glasses nearly full, before pushing one closer to her side of the bar. “For Danu if she’s here.”

The woman’s lips twitched and in one smooth motion she picked up the glass and downed the whole thing. “I take it you want something.”

I smiled. “Everything you might know about Banshees.”

Danu’s twitch of a smile turned indulgent. “Best make yourself comfortable, you might be here a while.”

Taking my own glass I mimicked her a downed it all. “I’ve got all night and a deep pocket.”

She laughed. “Music to my ears.”

-

The next morning I felt achy and dim, barely responding to Malia’s prodding and cajoling for breakfast. She finally gave up after a while and probably left to go bother Laura.

I knew I would have to get up eventually and make myself presentable, if only for Miss Martin’s sake, but that was hours away yet and I had a headache to nurse in the meanwhile.

Around noon I finally got up and staggered to the shower. Feeling refreshed afterwards I dressed and ate before grabbing a book and heading down a floor to my office.

I poured myself a drink and before planning the hopefully eventual seduction of Lydia Martin. Some would probably tell me I was no better than Monroe for doing so, but at least I wouldn’t even entertain the idea of fucking another woman after I’d gotten with Lydia.

My glass clicked on the desk at the same moment the door opened. I looked up to see Miss Martin step in, and a genuine smile bloomed on my lips. “Good afternoon Miss Martin, how are you?”

She took the seat across from me, her face neutral. “Afternoon Mr. Hale, and I am quite well, thank you for asking.” Without prompting she pulled out a roll of bills from her purse. “I believe this should be sufficient to cover what I owe you.” A flick of her wrist had it landing dead middle on my desk.

I scooped it up, feeling vaguely impressed by her aim. Not bothering to count it out, something that gauche was beneath me, I tucked it away in my desk and stood. “Would you like a drink Miss Martin?”

She twisted the same wrist that had thrown the money to stare at the face of her watch. “I'll have to take a rain check Mr. Hale, I've got pressing business to tend to soon.”

Which was disappointing, though I definitely noticed the 'rain check', that was something I was going to hold her to, believe you me. “Of course, walk you to the door?” I nudged my elbow out in subtle hint.

In a single movement she stood and smoothed out her skirt, “you may.” Walking over to me she slid her hand delicately around my arm, ending up barely resting on my forearm.

The moment we exited the front of Laura's grocer her hand was gone and with quick steps she started striding towards her car. Well I couldn't have that, not yet at least. Even quicker I bridged the gap between us and gripped her elbow. “A question if you will Miss Martin.”

She turned slightly and glared in such a way as to make a lesser man probably feel like scum for touching her without her consent. I just smiled and lapped up her ire, how could I do any less with such a glorious creature?

“Make it snappy,” it dripped from her mouth like poison and my smile turned into a leer as I leaned in closer.

“I find myself curious why a woman such as yourself isn't more torn up by what you found out yesterday. Not that I expect you to be a crying wreck, but surely you feel something?” Her country floral scent turned winter-dark and wicked.

“All I feel at the moment Mr. Hale, is the burning urge to stab you somewhere I don't think you'd like being stabbed in the next few moments if you don't release me.”

Slowly, to show her I was doing what she asked but on my terms, I released her elbow and straightened. Just as slowly I turned and started walking away. “I'll stay in touch about that rain check Miss Martin.”

The sputtering hiss that escaped her was worth whatever hurt she might mentally promise me later, and the next sound I heard was the rumble of her engine and the screech of tires as she pulled away.

Almost jauntily I strode back up the steps to the grocer and stuck my head in. “No need to bother making dinner for me Laura, I'm going to be late.” Not even waiting for her response I went back out into the street and started following Miss Martin. She might have left in a car, but she really should get it checked, it was starting to leak oil. Maybe I'd recommend a good mechanic later.

-

Lydia had long ago been taught the use of owning ramshackle property, such as the warehouse she had her ex-fiancé tied up in. He was still out cold from his roofied drink and she gave an exasperated sigh, no one else was there and she could act as annoyed as she wanted; she'd put in just the right amount to knock out a Beta-wolf for three hours, they were currently on hour four.

Getting sick and tired of this shit she strode over to her box of tricks and pulled out a thin vial of powder.

Filling a bucket with water she tapped out exactly six grains of the powder before putting the vial back. On a whim she scooped her ax up in her free hand.

After waiting a few minutes to let the powder properly dissolve she walked back over to Aiden and dumped the contents over his head. Tossing the bucket aside she watched as he sputtered and woke up. _Finally_.

Of course it still took him a while to get his bearings, but now they were playing her game and she could be patient. Eventually he became aware enough to realize she was there and blinked. “Lydia?” He tried to get up, only to realize he was tied down, and well. His muscles strained so prettily as he tried to break the ropes. “Lydia.” Now he was trying to be threatening, how cute.

“Aiden.” Her icy tone actually made him freeze, and oh, that was wonderful. “Do you want to know what I found out just the other day?”

She didn't have werewolf hearing, but she was fairly certain his heart stopped beating for a few seconds. “It was only a bachelor party Lydia, it didn't mean anything, you know that?”

“Oh really?” Casually she lifted her ax up, bringing it into his line of vision, and inspected it for rust. “I'm fairly certain most bachelor parties don't end in torture and death.” She watched the fear creep into his eyes as, satisfied with the lack of rust, she thumbed the edge of her headman’s ax to test the edge. “Do you know how a Dullahan is made Aiden?”

He blinked and was silent for a few moments, taken aback by her suddenly casual tone she guessed. “Dullahan?”

“They’re a Celtic death spirit, a Banshee’s servant. See a Banshee’s scream predicts not only death but misfortune as well, but what most don’t know is that it’s the Dullahan that causes the misfortune predicted; Dullahan’s aren’t well loved back in the old world, as you might guess. But unlike Banshees they’re not born, they're made.

“You know, one of the supposed ‘origins’ of a Banshee is a woman mistreated and killed before her time, which, of course, is complete and utter shit, but it does have a grain of truth.” She gave a small frown when she noticed a snag in her ax, pulling out her whetstone she quickly smoothed it out.

“Now when a Banshee’s abused, maltreated, ignored, what have you, she can turn all that pain and anger back on the one, or ones, who gave it to her.

“All she has to do is behead them.”

His adam’s apple bobbed and she felt a smile blooming on her lips. “The ax, of course, is only the vessel for all her emotions; she stores them up, then she beheads her abusers and all those emotions enter the newly birthed Dullahan. And because those emotions are _hers_ she controls the Dullahan, until she runs all that anger and hate into the ground. The more anger and hate the longer the Dullahan will last.”

With an easy motion she upended his chair sending him sprawling on the ground; she heard his jaw snap as his chin hit the floor. Once again he strained and tried to break his bonds, but she knew werewolves and he wouldn’t be getting out of those soaked ropes anytime soon.

“There’s really no reason to be afraid Aiden, I might never have done this before, but I know how to make a smooth slice, and it’s not like you’ll remember anything after your head’s gone. After all, you’ll be dead.”

He actually _whimpered_ and she found herself wondering how she’d fallen for him in the first place; _not that Peter’s much different,_  she thought ruefully. Though he was older, and he seemed less inclined to jump to conclusions, his wit was also wicked sharp; always nice traits to have.

In a smooth motion she swung the ax up and lowered it slowly to judge the right angle, making only a shallow mark on the back of his neck. It healed as she raised her ax up again, this time using all her upper body and legs like she’d been taught. She was grateful it was apparently enough force to slice through in one stroke, having to make a second swing just made everything worse for everyone.

As his head rolled away and his body slumped the ax in her hands grew lighter, and for a moment she thought it might just float right out of her hands.

Moving her ax into a one handed grip she went over to Aiden’s head and picked it up by the hair, despite what she’d told him she still had a lot of work to do to make sure her Dullahan lasted as long as possible.

-

 _Well, well, well_. Deciding to leave Miss Martin to her esoteric work I strode away from the crack I'd been peering through. My mind already puzzling together new facts with old, and coming up with completely new plans. I started whistling an old Ben Bernie song as I walked, while making a mental note to send a whole florist worth of flowers to O'Breen's.

-

The next month was slow, not that I was strapped for cash, even without my business or the grocer the Hales wouldn't end up in a poor-house for years yet. I didn't mind the break, though I could have done without yet another blowout between Cora and Malia.

Like a hundred times before Laura and Deucalion danced and postured around each other, toeing the line of all out war. Really I just wish they would get on with it, it was clear neither was going to bend and I _really_ needed to cut loose. At the moment I think I'd even be happy if the two of them screwed each other's brains out, at least it meant something was _happening_ in our Mexican standoff.

Though really I should have learned my lesson about speaking too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ben Bernie song Peter's Whistling is "Ain't She Sweet".


	2. Can't Fake the Daytime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post this tomorrow, but since it's Thanksgiving for my American readers I thought I might as well post it early in case they've got busy days. So really you all win!
> 
> And for those followers who are celebrating Thanksgiving I hope that it's a safe and happy one.
> 
> Chapter title comes from "Artificial Nocturne" by Metric.

Not to fall into purple prose, but it really _was_ a dark and stormy night. One that made me wish I could be inside by a nice roaring fire curled up with a drink, a good book, and my daughter sleeping against my side; I would also have accepted Miss Martin naked in my lap. Though if I had to choose it clearly would be Miss Martin, sorry dear.

But I couldn't be, because Stiles had to go and get himself snatched. If Derek weren't so sweet on the boy I'd probably have snapped his neck years ago, regardless of how useful he could occasionally be.

I was halfway through combing the warehouse district when I smelt blood. And not Stiles' blood either, not with the way it punched through me like bullets. Someone else, and fuck...

Seconds later I came across her body, beat up, bruised, and very clearly bitten. Even though I knew the bite would do nothing, my own claws still came out at the sight, digging into her side. “Oh Miss Martin,” I sighed. She twitched and whimpered as if, even unconscious, she had heard me. “You really shouldn't have.”

Easily falling into a mile eating lope I headed back to home.

Malia and Cora gave a start when I burst through the back door. Without even waiting for them to try and think of questions I barked out orders. “Cora, go find Laura and Derek and let them know I won't be finishing my part of the search, though I think it pretty obvious that Stiles is _not_ hidden away in a warehouse somewhere. Malia I need you to run over to Derek's and grab his first-aid kit.” We didn't have one here because we didn't regularly deal with injured humans.

The two girls thankfully scurried into action and soon Miss Martin and I were alone. Being as gentle as I could I ascended the steps to the living portions of the building. Not feeling the least bit guilty for it, I soon laid her out on my own bed and set about divesting her of most of her clothes, they were ruined anyways, and cleaning her wounds with a rag. All the while resisting the urge to have at her myself right there and then.

Luckily for Miss Martin, that was about when Malia showed back up again, her arms full with Derek's kit. I took it from her and tried to shoo her out, but she was having none of it and perched on my nightstand, clearly intending to watch everything. Made me wish I never encouraged her curiosity ever.

“Who's she?”

Resigning myself to an audience, and thus and end to any impropriety, I sighed and started pulling out needle and thread. “Miss Lydia Martin, a former client, and former fiancée of the deceased Aiden Monroe.”

Malia's hand reached out and I swatted it away with a warning growl. “No.”

She pouted. “She's pretty.”

Some of my soured lust turned to amusement as I pulled out a lighter and sterilized the needle. “Really? I hadn't quite noticed.”

My daughter snapped her teeth at me playfully. “Should I hold her down?”

I paused, frowning for a moment. Miss Martin wasn't all that physically strong considering, but even unconscious she could be trouble. “Fine,” I huffed. “But only touch her shoulders.”

“Yes dad,” even though I wasn't looking I knew she'd rolled her eyes.

Focusing on Miss Martin's side I started my work.

-

Six hours later Derek and Laura found Stiles, apparently after he somehow managed to escape from Ennis' clutches; surprise, surprise about the identity of the kidnapper. Though even with all my wheedling at Laura while Stiles got patched up she remained resolute and still wouldn't give me the all clear.

To console myself I wandered back down to my own apartment and watched Lydia. Just in time too, for about fifteen minutes later she finally came to. I found myself grinning as she blinked uncomprehendingly at my ceiling. “Welcome back to the world of the living.”

Miss Martin gave an unflattering grunt and started to push herself up, in a flash I was above her, pushing her back down. “Now, now, Miss Martin. The doctors say you've had quite a shock and should move at all.”

She glared at me. “Doctors?”

Wonderful to learn she hadn't lost any of her sweet venom. “Well my daughter and I. Regardless you shouldn't move.” I half hoped she wouldn't listen to me, just to see what she'd try. Though I know exactly how _I'd_ keep her still.

Sadly she relaxed back onto the bed. “Fine.” A moment later she looked down on herself. “Though I want _clothes_ , and you _not_ here while I dress, your daughter can help me. You get food, I'm half starved.” Apparently bed rest turned her into a regular drill-sergeant.

The pout I gave her in response to her demands probably looked much like my daughter's had six hours ago. “Spoil all my fun. Any food requests?”

She gave a knife sharp smile. “Anything that takes hours to cook.”

I snapped my teeth at her as I climbed out of my bed, and briefly wondered if I'd get away with giving her my clothes. Deciding not, I left my room and told Malia to get some of her clothes and help Miss Martin put them on.

I made crepes.

-

Malia stormed past me as I lifted up the tray with Miss Martin's breakfast. “She's suddenly not all that pretty.”

I had to stop and take deep breaths, otherwise I would have doubled up with laughter and dropped all the food. Malia took advantage of my sudden impairment and snatched one of the crepes off the plate. I flashed my eyes at her, but she seemed unimpressed as she sauntered up the stairs. “I'm going to go bother Stiles.”

I huffed, what was the world coming to I ask you? Sure now it was only daughters disrespecting their fathers, but soon it'd be complete chaos in the streets—not that I wasn't opposed to that really. With a shake of my head I entered my room, frowning slightly at the sight of Lydia propped up against my headboard, practically swamped with pillows, I didn't even know we had that many in the apartment.

With a flourish I set the tray on Miss Martin's lap, “et voila, crepes two ways. Though it was three ways before Malia stole the third. She apparently doesn't think much of you at the moment.”

Miss Martin gave a bark of harsh laughter. “Watch me not care.” With slow movements she started eating; I would have helped her, but she currently held a very sharp knife—I wouldn't accept anything less in my apartment—in one hand and I didn't want blood over all that nice food.

When she finished she set her knife and fork in precisely the right positions and daintily wiped her face with the napkin. “I've had worse.”

I rested a hand over my heart and feigned surprise. “A compliment? Say it isn't so!”

She tossed the fork at me.

It had been a half-hearted throw at best so I caught it easily, setting it on my desk with an ominous _clink_. “So, mind telling me how you ended up half dead in the warehouse district?”

A heartbeat later the knife was embedded in the wall a few inches to my right. “No. Though it's being dealt with.”

I would have mentioned her Dullahan, just to see if she tossed the plate, but I knew Laura was probably listening in as best she could and I wanted to keep that all to myself. “Would it have anything to do with your deceased fiancé?”

She fiddled with the napkin, though by her scent I could tell she was only affecting nervousness. “Perhaps. I suggest you stop asking questions however Peter; otherwise I'm liable to destroy this plate, and considering it's Wedgewood that would be a crime.”

I was touched she'd noticed. I stood and gave the most exasperated sigh I could. “Alright, though out of everyone I would have thought you'd best understand 'the enemy of my enemy'.” With a measured stride I walked back over to her and picked up the tray.

Barely a moment later her hand gripped my wrist deliciously tight. “And you should know _Peter_ , that a friend now can become an enemy later.

I leaned in so that our faces were only inches apart. “But those are the best kind _Lydia_ ,” I murmured, before leaning in and nosing behind her ear so her scent flooded my senses. Breaking her grip easily I swept the tray from her before she could even reach the plate; she'd been right after all, it was Wedgewood and breaking it would have been a crime.

-

Deciding to let her stew for a while I went back upstairs to bother Laura. She pre-empted me as I walked into her study though and glared. “If you're hear to bug me about wholesale slaughter again Peter you can just turn right back around and leave.”

Lazily I flopped into the chair across from her. “And deny you my munificent presence? Hardly.”

Her eyes flashed red. “Peter...”

“Oh relax,” I twitched my head to the side, just barely bearing my throat to her for a moment. “I'll be good” I paused for a moment, “and quiet.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything more.

Five minutes later however, I caved. “Though really Laura...”

“Peter!”

-

Lydia was going to strangle Peter and bury him in a grave so deep no one would find him even if they dug for a hundred years...possibly after fucking him into said ground.

Her hands clutched the bedsheets and she wished she could do more than that, she needed to rend and tear something into smithereens, and if it was Peter's so much the better; but her body protested even that simple movement and it made her even angrier.

“Shit Malia, ow.” Lydia frowned at the young man's voice getting closer. “Gods, don't try and become a nurse.”

“Shut up Stiles, be glad I'm doing this at all,” Lydia knew she should be trying to make nice with Peter's daughter considering...well considering. But she had to admit it was a little fun to rile the girl up.

And Stiles...why did that feel familiar?

 _Chaos rushing around her and a scream so pitiful it would make even the devil himself weep_. Oh, that would be why. Closing her eyes she lifted her right hand as high as she could and twitched her fingers. A fond annoyance more annoyance than fond at the moment, and curiosity.

With a sigh she opened her eyes and let her hand fall back down; a few minutes later Malia shouldered the door open, dragging a clearly injured Stiles beside her. None too gently she set the boy on the desk chair, frowning for a moment at the knife still embedded in the nearby wall, Peter should be damn grateful that his reflexes were sharp. “I'll be right outside.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. “No, you’re not. 'Cause really that's just wolf-speak for 'shameless eavesdropping', shoo. Your dad made a mess in the kitchen and you can apologize for being horrid by cleaning it up.” He made a 'go away' gesture with his hands. “Shoo.”

Malia glared at the both of them, but left.

Stiles tilted his head, but remained silent for the next few minutes. Until: “Alright.” For the first time he looked Lydia in the eye. “So you're the reason I'm still alive.”

She arched an unimpressed eyebrow. “Should I be apologizing? Because that doesn't sound like such a bad thing. And I never apologize.”

He slouched more into the chair, though she didn't think it would do his injured body any favors. “Really? That's impressive.”

A snort of amusement escaped her. “I've got nothing to be ashamed about. As my grandmother once told me: shame is for those who fail to live up to the ideal of what they believe they should be.”

“So you're perfect?”

Her smile was unfriendly as she could make it. “As close as, now get to the point.”

His leg jittered. “Does there have to be a point? I could just want to meet the reason this shit-storm is happening.”

“Deucalion's the one who pressed Aiden to court me, you want someone to blame lay it at his feet.” Her ex-fiancé's memories were like an old movie to her now, familiar and accessible at any moment.

“You're still the reason.”

Another snort escaped her, though this one was contemptuous. “If you're going to try and kill me you might as well try and get it over with.” She wasn't armed, but she could always scream; people tended to stop whatever they were doing when she screamed.

“I don't think either of us are really in a position to have an all out brawl, no matter how much both of us would probably enjoy that.” She wondered if Stiles had a setting other than sarcastic.

“Then shut up and leave.”

-

“What's with the girl?” After ten minutes during which whenever I tried to speak Laura would flash her eyes at me and growl she spoke.

I arched an eyebrow. “Oh _now_ you want me to talk? I see how it is.”

Laura sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Peter, just answer the question.”

“She's Aiden's ex-fiancée, and apparently knows where the bodies are,” my lips twitched in remembrance of that time with Lydia.

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you soft on her?”

“Oh Laura,” I gave her my best toothy grin. “You know I'm not soft on _any_ of the ladies I like.”

Predictably her eyes rolled. “Really Peter? Save me your grandstanding.”

“Then maybe you should stop your grandstanding with Deucalion. Because I swear Laura, if this is some long, drawn out courtship I'm going to kill the both of you, brutally.”

She took the threat in stride. “Since we're only going to be chasing the same lines of conversation you might as well leave. I've got nothing more to say.”

Now I was the one rolling my eyes. “Fine.” With as much aplomb as I could muster I got up and strode out. Making my way back downstairs. I frowned a little when I saw Malia cleaning up the kitchen but she just glowered at me when she saw me, deciding I could leave _that_ well enough alone—despite what Laura might believe I did have some self-preservation instincts—I kept walking.

“Not leaving Ly-di-a,” I frowned at hearing Stiles' voice coming from my room. “Not until we've bared our souls to each other and become BFFs.” Doing an abrupt heel-turn I went back to the stairwell, shouting down towards the grocer. “Derek, come and get your asshole before I turn him into cat-chow.”

Stiles must have heard me because he was sniggering as I walked down the hall again and finally entered my room. His head was lolling against the top of the desk chair back. “Hey Petey.” He managed a cheeky finger wave.

“For a man who'd be an Omega if he were a wolf you're a bit too insolent.” I strode over and hauled him up by the collar of his shirt.

“Well you know Pete, I've never really had the best relationship with authority figures since I up and 'accidentally' murdered my parents.”

I snorted as I gently tossed him out into the hall, “save your sob story for someone who cares. But really, that's the line you're feeding people these days?”

I closed the door before he could answer, and I didn't bother listening hard enough to catch it through the wood.

When I turned back around Lydia was giving a fake pout. “And I was just starting to like him.”

I arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “I wouldn't have pegged you for the sarcastic shit type.”

She hummed, raising her right hand and twitching her fingers. “He's amusing enough,” she hedged.

Deciding to let her have that lie for now I took Stiles’ previous seat. “You seem to be doing better,” the whys and wherefores of small talk eluded me, but I could fake it fairly well; my parents had made sure of that.

Her fingers twitched again and she gave a snort. “You might as well just give me the knife back if you’re going to pretend to be a banal human, I’d at least possibly have fun with the knife.”

“You keep talking like that and you’ll start to give a man ideas,” I flashed my own sharp teeth at her.

“I’ll say whatever I damn well please, and you’re just going to have to deal with it,” she snapped back. She moved to lay back down, pulling the blankets over her completely as she turned away from me. “Now let me sleep in peace.” Knowing when to give ground I stood and made my way out.

But not before hearing her continue. “And perhaps tomorrow I’ll give you different idea entirely.” I’m sure Malia was quite worried by how large my smile was when she saw it.

-

She shrieked, either in displeasure or surprise, when I scooped her out of bed the next morning. Moments later she pounded my shoulder. “Let me go!”

I paused in my movement and looked at her, arching an eyebrow. “Really? Just drop you right here, onto the ground? Considering how injured you are I think not. Anyways you should be thinking me, not hitting me. I thought you'd appreciate not lounging around in my bed all day again.” Not that _I_ minded, after she left her scent would linger for at least a few weeks for me to enjoy at my leisure; more than worth the cost of curling up with my daughter for a few nights.

Her eyes narrowed, clearly suspecting something, but at least she stopped hitting me. “Fine. But I've got my eyes on you.”

I gave her a wolfish grin. “Something I find I relish more than dread Miss Martin.” Gently I set her down on the couch in my pseudo living room, solicitously tucking a blanket around her; genuinely surprised she allowed. it. Leaving her I flicked on the radio, filling the room with big band music, before starting to leave.

“No.” I paused at Miss Martin's vehemence. “Turn it to the news.”

“I do have the paper.”

Which got me a flat look in response. “Just change the radio Peter.”

I sighed, but did so; her using my name more than enough incentive, just the way she said it did wonderful things to me. Leaving her to her news I went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Half listening to the soap ad playing as I mixed batter.

Soon enough the ad ended and a familiar news fanfare reached my ears. “Good morning fair citizens of Beacon Hills, and thank you for tuning in. Our top story: the body of a man was pulled out of the Beacon River earlier this morning.” I found myself paying a bit more attention. “While the police have not yet released the identity of the man our sources tell us that it was none other than Ennis Monroe, the infamous guard at the Bitten Club, as well as the brother of the owner.” I gave a soft snort at the lie.

“Well Stiles owes me ten bucks now,” Miss Martin sounded wonderfully triumphant.

I set my knife down and abandoned breakfast, walking over to her. “and when and why did you make that bet? I didn't think you two were that chummy.”

Her shark's smile, while lacking in sharp teeth, did horribly wonderful things to me. “I wouldn't call us _friends,_ friendly rivals maybe. And yesterday when he ruined my alone time.” She rolled her eyes. “Deucalion probably killed Ennis, that man doesn't seem to like failure much; well neither do I, but you don't see me murdering everyone who fails me, poor business practice.”

Leaning against the couch arm I arched an eyebrow. “A pack isn't a business Miss Martin, and an Alpha's word is law.” Though like any law there were always loopholes and workarounds. I felt a pleasant smile bloom on my face at a sudden thought. “Miss Martin, you feel up to doing a little field trip tomorrow?”

Somehow she managed to pull of bored and curious at the same time. “Well that depends on where we're going Mr. Hale.”

“An early lunch at the Bitten Club, you do still owe me a drink.”

A sour expression flitted across her face, her spring scent grew a little dark, and my smile grew. “I do, don't I?” She gave an exasperated sigh. “And if during this odious venture you happen to get a little work in?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Well then life would be perfect.” Resting an arm on the back of the couch to steady me I leaned forward towards her. “And Miss Martin, nothing ever done with me is _odious_.” I let my smile turn into a leer before leaving her to the couch and turning the radio back to my preferred jazz station, then returning to the kitchen to finish breakfast.

Miss Martin didn't say a word for the rest of the morning.


	3. Burns Like the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the end. I'm glad I finally finished this fic and could share it with you. Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Chapter title comes from "Sunburn" by Muse.

She more than made up for it the next day however, when she loudly and repeatedly, in an apparent attempt to browbeat me, insisted I take her to her home for fresh clothes. “I know you're more than happy to let me walk around in your clothes Mr. Hale, but I am not.”

And well, I'll admit that when she walked down the stairs at her house—nothing in her bearing or manner even suggesting she'd been seriously injured only two days before—her appearance more than made up for her haranguing.

Her hair was up in a wonderfully complex style that made me wonder how she'd managed to do it all herself, and made my fingers itch to ruin it. Her dress and jewelry were just as eye catching as her hair: a knee-length dress that seemed to be made only of numerous layers of dark blue lace, with an equally lacy shawl; and delicate gold strands that somehow managed to hold good-sized pearls and some dark blue stone.

I held out my arm and felt a delicious thrill of pleasure when she accepted. “Oh Lydia, the things I'd do to you if only you let me.”

She looked, and smelled, genuinely taken aback as I led her back to the car, and it seemed I'd managed to strike her speechless, for the time being at least.

For the first few minutes of the drive back into town she remained off in her own little Banshee world, hands occasionally moving, but otherwise still; listening in on the universe, I'm sure. When she came back she gave that mysterious smile I loved so much...loved? “Well Mr. Hale, consider yourself being judged.”

“On what?”

Her smile grew. “Now _that_ is my little secret.”

We said nothing else, my mind trying to work out this new puzzle and I didn't even dare to guess what Miss Martin was thinking, for the rest of the drive.

The Bitten Club wasn't the swankiest in Beacon Hills, but it had an atmosphere that harkened back to the recent past; and atmosphere I appreciated. I might want Deucalion dead, or at the very least subjugated, but that wouldn't stop me from admitting he had class. The hostess greeted us with a smile and quickly lead us to a table in a nice out of the way corner.

With an easy movement I slid Miss Martin's shawl off, her skin wondrously flawless under my hands, and quickly folded it over my arm like a Maitre D' so I could pull her chair out. I rested her shawl on the back of the chair as she sat down and I easily, she didn't weigh much, pushed the chair back in.

The hostess watch it all impassively and finally spoke when I sat down myself. “Your server will be with you shortly.” She started to leave but I snagged her wrist.

With a deft movement that was all showmanship I pulled out one of my business cards. “For Kali, if she's in.” I gave her my best ingratiating smile. She simpered as she took the card and walked off.

I turned my attention back to Miss Martin to see her glaring at he hostess' retreating back. I clicked my tongue. “Now don't go and kill the poor girl.”

Miss Martin turned her glare on me for a few moments before harrumphing and fiddling with her napkin.

Biting back a smile I took a sip of water and leaned back, content to let this silence stand.

We didn't have long to wait for our next interruption at least. “Whiskey neat.” A familiar smokey voice spoke as a tumbler hit the table. “And French 75.” And a champagne glass.

Turning slightly I pushed my chair out and stood. “Kali,” we didn't embrace but bussed each other's cheeks, a wonderfully human cover for a wolf's usual scent check of greeting. “So good to see you cousin.” Distantly, but I'd rather not give Miss Martin the wrong idea, if she didn't already know, from the start; I knew how that would end. “You and Miss Martin know each other.”

Kali spun a nearby chair over and perched on its edge. “Hello Peter.” She gave a little sneer. “Lydia.”

Lydia remained silent, only her narrowed eyes showing her displeasure.

But Kali took it in stride, her attention turning back to me. “So, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Say for myself?” I arched an eyebrow. “What’ve I done wrong now?” Then again Kali hardly seemed bothered, so it must not have been that big a thing. But one could never tell with Kali, which made her such an asset to Deucalion.

A soft snort left her. “Oh don’t be coy, it doesn’t sit well with you. It’s obvious you’re the reason Ennis died, you and your machinations.” Kali never was one for mincing words, or being all that polite, luckily it didn’t bother me.

Still it was curious that she’d pin the blame on me, when the real culprit went largely ignored on her other side. Which was just how Lydia liked it I’m sure. I cast her a brief glance to see that she was calmly sipping her own drink, expression bored.

And really, it would be ungentlemanly of me to reveal her part in this when she’d worked so hard to conceal it. If claiming the death helped moved things along with the Monroe pack too, well so much the better. “You’ve got me,” I couldn’t outright say yes, she’d still be able to smell the lie on me, but affirm her own claims; that I could do easily. “But aren’t things so much better with him gone?” Ennis had been a bit of a brute, and a simple one at that. How he came about the idea that kidnapping Stiles, and later attacking Miss Martin—although on that front I found myself forgiving him, for the aftermath if not the attack itself—was a good idea was beyond me.

Kali made a noncommittal sound. Practically agreement considering. “So I take it you want to negotiate.”

Well now that she mentioned it. “Now that there are only three of you...”

“Two,” Kali interrupted. “Ethan turned tail with his boy-toy soon after Aiden died.”

I made a considerate hum. “Even better. Laura will welcome you with open arms since you're family. As for Deucalion,” I let myself smile. “We could lock him and Laura in a basement for a day, see what happens.” Kali rolled her eyes and gave a huff, I guess that Laura hadn't been the only one throwing off misplaced frustrations of various natures. “And we can have an end to this...squabble.”

Kali arched an eyebrow. “You're saying you want this over? I thought you were as bloodthirsty as me.”

I gave her a flat look. “True, after a fashion. But you forget Kali, first and foremost I'm a _soldier_ ; a piss poor one sure,” war had taught me that well enough. “But I follow orders. And even soldiers can grow tired of fighting.”

Kali's eyes flared blue, always a strangeness since Kali had never struck me as the guilty type, and she gave a soft snarl. “Dog.”

That insult barely stung anymore and I simply arched an eyebrow. “Really cousin? If you're going to insult me at least have the decency to do it properly.” The world didn't fall into a hushed silence or any sort of cliché like that; we were surround by humans who were as boring as they came, and a Banshee who was about to get a peek into the bit of my soul I loathed. “I'm a _hound_ , which you know very well.”

Kali stood. “At the very least Duke'll probably consider your proposal.” Turning around she began walking away. “Drinks are on the house,” she called over her shoulder before vanishing completely.

Our sever, a poor boy who looked like he'd run and hide if a _rabbit_ spooked him, finally approached. “Would you like to order anything?” At least he didn't sound all that scared.

Unfortunately for him, I'd lost what little appetite I might have had. “Another whiskey.”

Lydia demurred, beyond that first sip she hadn’t touched her drink, apparently intent on looking at me like I'd become a puzzle myself. And while part of me relished the attention, because it was exactly what I'd wanted, the rest of me felt too damn wrung out. I just wanted to go back to the den and curl up with my family; an idea I'm sure would shock my dear niece. But even I had a breaking point.

The server returned again, quickly setting my drink down before running off once more; I brief thought as to what sort of vibes I must be throwing off to frighten him so.

At least Lydia had the decency to wait until we were well and truly alone before speaking. “I understand why dog and hound are insults, though the subtleties escape me.”

Even though it wasn't a question I knew she wanted a response, and normally I would have dove headfirst into yet another war of carefully worded volleys with her. But not now. I finished off the last of my first whiskey and all of my second and stood, giving her the best infuriating grin I could at the moment. “You're a clever girl, who currently has access to a supernatural library most would kill for, I'm sure you'll figure it out soon enough.” I offered her my arm again.

She stood and took it. “I hadn’t realized I’d be allowed to rifle through the Hale library, although I daresay I’m well enough to return to my own home.” She was probably right, but it would be such a shame to lose her so soon.

“Surely you’re still feeling a little faint?” I didn’t know if I was trying to cajole her or tease. “Although staying would probably mean having to be at dinner with everyone else tonight,” I had lied through my teeth about Lydia not being well enough to leave my apartment last night, but Laura wouldn’t believe it a second time. “But you _would_ get a look at the library.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Or you could just invite me over to dinner and drinks afterwards. I daresay that would work just as well.”

Internally I leaped for joy, while I managed to keep a mostly calm facade. “Why Miss Martin, are you giving me permission to court you?” Already I was plotting gifts I could leave on her bedside table while she slept. Jewelry most definitely, but perhaps wait a while before I started leaving fresh hearts.

“I am,” she answered graciously. “But if you break my heart death will be the first thing you beg for.”

We were right out in the open on the street, halfway between the club and my car. But I couldn’t help myself. Turning to face her I swept her up into a kiss worthy of the silver screen. Well, if the silver screen allowed monstrous teeth and drawing blood on their dashing heroes.

As we pulled apart I licked my lips, chasing the glorious taste of her blood while it lingered. “Oh Lydia,” I didn’t even care my voice was a rumbling purr. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


End file.
